


have I run too far to get home

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Roseanne
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, No Dialogue, POV Becky, Roseanne Revival, mentions of main characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 08:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: It's sleeping and waking and breathing and moving back in with her parents.It's flannel and it's leather and it's dust on the ground.It's Mark and he's alive in her dreams.It's Mark and he's alone tonight.I wouldn't leave your daughter for anything.





	have I run too far to get home

**Author's Note:**

> -for Glenn Quinn

 

 

It's déjà vu. 

It's living the same life twice without breathing. 

It's finding Mark's crooked grin in a diner off the highway and allowing a stranger to kiss her. With her eyes closed, it's Mark's hands on her hips. Callused thumbs press against skin and they're not motor oil stained. They're manicured and perfect. There's no love in the way the man calls her  _baby_ and purrs, "You're incredible."

It's leading him to the door and apologizing for using someone else's name. 

It's Delaware Street and a weathered tree that taunts- _here is where he said,_ "I love you even if they don't love me." _I am standing,_ it says, _I am watching as you fall. You wouldn't take a hand up even if I could give it to you._

It's Nana Mary's tight squeeze on the first Thanksgiving without Mark and her well meaning, "I never liked that kid until he ate my stuffing." When the family gathered around the table, everyone's  _I'm thankful for..._ was sarcastic and biting, light and affectionate in the snide Conner way.

Crystal cried before Becky could share hers, David kept his head down until he reached the porch. 

It's a dusty motorcycle in her parents garage because working on it would feel like spitting on Mark's memory. 

It's the day after the funeral and her Something Black is his leather jacket. Her coping is carrying it from room to room just in case its owner should walk through the door. Jackets don't have souls and everyone knows that but she can find his there so they must be wrong. The whole world must be wrong. 

It's a line from David's poem tattooed on her upper right shoulder blade next to  _Love ya_ in Mark's neat scrawl _._  

It's sitting on the same damn couch in the same damn house in what must be a simulation of reality. A warped alternate universe where no one gets what they want and every color is a moonless midnight. 

It's Darlene's red rimmed eyes as she clutches her newborn and calls him M, calls him Mark, calls him a lucky kid. Apologizes for the crack in her sister's voice when Becky cradles the baby in her arms and whispers, "I have a story to share when you're older."

It's forgoing a traditional funeral and blasting Alice in Chain's  _Got Me Wrong_ as the casket is lowered into the ground. Choking down an order of fries afterwards, chasing with a sleeping pill. 

It's sleeping and waking and breathing and moving back in with her parents. It's flannel and it's leather and it's dust on the ground. It's Mark and he's alive in her dreams. It's Mark and he's alone tonight. 

It's dying when he died.

It's the tears she cannot cry when someone asks,

"What's wrong? What is it?"  

 

 

 

 


End file.
